Bitter Fingers (Live) lyrics

I'm going on the circuit, doing all the clubs
And I really need a song, boys to stir those workers up
To get their wives to sing it with me just like in the pubs
When I worked the good old pubs in Stepney

Could you knock a line or two together for a friend
Sentimental tear inducing with a happy end
'Cause we need a tune to open our season at south end
Can you help us

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

I like the warm blue flame, the hazy heat it brings
It loosens up the muscles and forces you to sing
You know it's just another hit and run
From the tin pan alley twins
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/e/elton_john/bitter_fingers_live.html ]
And there's a chance that one day you might write a standard lads
So churn them out quick and fast we'll still pat your backs
'Cause we need what we can get to launch another dozen acts
Oh, are you working

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars, oh

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars